


sheets of some other

by unorgaynized



Series: a dream of spring [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, Lynesse Mormont/Dacey Mormont, Mentions of Dacey Mormont, Past Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower, Past Relationship(s), in-universe Asha/Alysanne, mentions of Alysane Mormont
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23225623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unorgaynized/pseuds/unorgaynized
Summary: flowers are knotted in her soft hair, but her arms are only cold.
Relationships: Asha Greyjoy/Lynesse Hightower
Series: a dream of spring [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664740
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: ASOIAF Rarepair Week





	sheets of some other

If Asha had seen her in Westeros, she’d’ve scorned her for a soft greenlander, with her pale golden hair, deep blue eyes, and unmarked skin. In this manse of Ormollen’s, she’s the only other Westerosi, her words still accented with the Reachan drawl Asha knows from her days on the shore. She is near thirty, just a handful of years older than Asha herself, yet her skin’s childishly smooth, unmarred by childbirth or hunger or wind.

Asha’s skin has been windburnt since she was old enough to run across the bridges of Pyke. She’d played with axes and swords and ropes since her hands could curl, and her words are a captain’s, her legs bent to keep balance on a ship. Her nose is sharp, her smile quick, her wrists strong from the finger dance, and that’s all that mattered to her before.

“Come,” Lynesse says, without giving her a backwards look, and Asha follows still. She’s no dog, come to sit and bark at a woman’s heels, but Greyjoys have always enjoyed reaving at the Reach’s shores and in this, Asha is no different than her forefathers. 

She pushes Lynesse down on the bed that the other woman keeps, silks and satins tangling in her hands, sliding as Asha leans her weight down. Lynesse divests Asha of her jerkin, but Asha catches her by the wrist, pins the smooth white hands together before she can wrest her hand down any further. “I never said you could.”

Lynesse’s breath hitchens, pink staining those pale, pale cheeks. Her head presses against the pillows, where flowers were strewn about. She _likes_ this, wrists pinned to the headboard by Asha’s hand, and Asha’s knee between her thighs. She grinds herself against Asha’s knee, and Asha can’t help the groan that nearly escapes at the feeling of Lynesse, hot and ready and waiting. 

“I won’t beg,” Lynesse says, and Asha falls back to replace her knee with teeth and tongue, releasing Lynesse’s hands to grip at her short hair. She makes the Hightower fall, brings the great tower to new heights to bring it crashing down.

Lynesse favors her with one of her rare dazzling smiles, golden and hot and cold, the sun rising above the waters and near enough to make Asha’s heart stop. Some merling of the deep seas could not have so enthralling a smile, and lesser men than Asha had lost themselves for but a taste of what Lynesse deigns to give her. “You’re well-practiced.”

“I’m highly recommended by the heiress to Bear Island,” Asha says. Alysane, she knows, would not mind this so terribly; they are both women in the world with desires of their own that their hands cannot always sate when there’s someone wet and willing near them. Asha’s thought to be a servant here, purchased by Ormollen for some amusement of Lynesse’s, and she has no qualms about taking her own satisfactions.

“The heiress,” Lynesse repeats, and the smile is gone as suddenly as flowers in a frost. Then, “You fucked _Dacey_.”

All too late, Asha remembers that Lynesse had married the past lord of Bear Island, that she knows the Mormonts near as well as Asha, that Lynesse has not been to Westeros in years. There is something in her voice that threatens fondness, threatens anger, threatens something as brittle and as sharp as dragonglass. “No,” she says. “Alysane.”

“The hoary old bitch is dead then,” Lynesse lets out a breath of relief, looking as if Asha had fucked her senseless. “I never cared for Maege. Alysane was a slut if I remember, had a girl through some man.”

Sorrow crawls through Asha, though it’s stamped out firmly by the dismissal of Aly by a concubine. “Have you not heard of the Red Wedding?”

“The Stark boy died there, along with his mother,” Lynesse shrugs, reaching down to cup one of her small pink-tipped breasts. “I only met them the few times, though I thought it was rather disgraceful they were killed at the wedding of their own kinsman. My father,” she says the words with some sort of abhorrent pride, as if she found the man distasteful, “would never do such a thing for a spurned daughter.”

“There were others,” Asha says coolly. “A thousand fighting men died with the Starks. Among them was Dacey.”

“ _Gods no_ ,” Lynesse bursts out. A lover’s reaction, not the words of someone who had been wed to a cousin but a few years. “Tell me it is not so.”

“Dacey is months dead.” Asha averts her eyes. Sorrow is an uncomfortable emotion to watch, reminds her too much of her mother, of the broken Poole girl and her own broken brother, reminds her she’s here for ships and men, not for pleasure. 

Lynesse lets out a scream, and Asha knows she will never be forgiven for telling her this, never be forgotten for this breaking. Would Lynesse have cared so much for her husband, for Jorah who disgraced himself for one of those golden smiles? She doesn’t know. Lynesse weeps and rages, throws bronze mirrors, and Asha says nothing. 

Her mother’s spells are worse, after all. They tear at her heart more than this, and Lynesse is but an amusement, her hold on Asha no stronger than her enthralling smile. 

Lynesse quiets, and wraps herself around Asha, to hold, to capture. Flowers are still knotted in her soft hair, but her arms are only cold.

**Author's Note:**

> day 5 of asoiafrarepairs: flowers|embrace


End file.
